light

Clanging barbels and racing treadmills fill the heat soaked air inside the gym, where the broken air conditioner makes each step that much harder. I run facing the street, with windows twice my height mirroring back my image and giving me a view of the outside world. I count trains and cars and pedestrians to keep the time moving, trying to ignore the burning in my legs and chest. A car stops at the light, and now I’m distracted. The headlights are evenly placed to where they appear to shine out from the reflection of my own eyes. Is that what the philosophers meant when they told us that the soul of a person shines out of their eyes? Or the artists who say that the eyes are the window to the soul? I find I can hardly believe that remark. If it were true, there is no possible universe where my soul would be such a pure color. I have felt too much, seen too much, done too much for it to be simply white. No. I envision it to be a kaleidoscope of colors and hues, both darkness and light bound together in a triumphant dance. My passions and despairs, my aspirations and fears, the parts of me I gladly show the world and the pieces I hide away from view; all are too complex, too interdependent, too vast to be condensed to one single stream of light. Then I wonder what mine would look like to other people, would it be breathtaking and beautiful, heartbreaking and terrifying, or something completely different? And what then of the rest of the world? What if we knew the soul of a person by the lights in their eyes? What if les amoureux have discovered the secret, that they have discovered the ability to see past a person’s pupils and into their soul?

Silver pipes played by the hand of the wind are a permanent fixture at my home. The clanging echoes around our house, keeping me company in the quiet hours of the night. Deep tones come from the old sliding glass door at the deck, while a higher pitched song dances from the green front door. Sometimes storms roll through and throw the chimes into a frenzy. And other times, when the air is still and the sun is high in the sky, the chimes stand silent to listen to the crashing ocean across the street.

The small bathroom is warm from the heat of the radiator, condensation gathering on the cold window panes. Locking the door behind me, I turn the water on, wincing at the seemingly deafening sound of the water striking the tub in the early hour. Steam rises in delicate swirls, twining about itself into the cool air, disappearing in wisps.

I toe off my trainers and set them outside the door. Shucking my sweat suffused clothes into a pungent pile, I step into the hot water, letting it flow over my aching muscles. The quiet room fills with the smells of my shampoo and soap, the scents mingling pleasantly. I scrub my body until I no longer smell of the gym, and then stand under the scalding stream (apparently the water pipes can’t decide on an even temperature).

My skin is bright red from the heat when I step out and wrap the towel around myself. I wipe down the mirror and see that my cheeks are flushed to match the colour of the sunrise. Back in my room, I move quietly through the motions of my morning routine. Almost automatically I start the Insta-Kettle, force pomade through my still-damp hair, rub lotion over my legs and arms.

Light cascades in through the window, finally breaking over the top of the buildings across the street.

I stand as a sentinel dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, watching the street covered in its ghostly pallor.

Snarled together in adoration beneath the glittering stars she is greeted by the chaos of her beloved.

This is the hour for questions that haunt us in the quiet moments. It’s for the answers and declarations we fear to say aloud in the light of day. It’s for the undeniable truths that slip from our tight grip and fall softly from our sleep suffused lips.

It’s the ideas that rouse us from dreams, those that compel us to scramble for pen and paper, scribbling before they are whisked away. It’s in the darkness of 02:00 that we truly know who we are, under pale moonlight, where the mantle dividing dream and reality falls, letting the dance of day fade into the night’s grasp.

In the dominion of the shadow, we cling firm to memories of radiance. In slumber’s sovereignty we tread delicately, careful not to awaken the nightmares and monsters hiding behind our dreams.